


Confession Sans Contrition

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-21
Updated: 2007-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1625129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy MacManus has a quality confession</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confession Sans Contrition

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this. It's a first fic of this kind for me. :D If you don't like it, I will happily try again!
> 
> Written for wook77

 

 

Confession Sans Contrition

"Mon Dieu, donnez-moi les lumières nécessaires pour connaître mes péchés et la grâce pour les détester de tout mon coeur et pour les confesser avec sincérité. Je vous demande cette grâce par les mérites de Jésus-Christ mon Sauveur, par l'intercession de la Sainte Vierge, de mon Saint Ange Gardien, de mes saints patrons et de tous les saints."

"How exactly, have you sinned, my son?" the voice on the other side wasn't judgmental. Truly a person who was as pulled by sin as Murphy himself was. Here he could be at ease, with his shoulders resting against the wall of the confessional and his eyes focused on the youthful silhouette of his confessor.

Murphy was at ease, even though he felt a little awkward. There was no shame to have sinned. And there were people in the world, he firmly believed, whose purpose was to sin and keep others from drowning within the same. One day he hoped to be so calm before his executioner, because the instruments of God were not meant long for the world.

He answered in English because that was the language he was addressed in. There was a little fun in switching languages. It was like speaking in half secrets and full truths. Murphy searched for the best way to phrase himself and came up woefully short of anything impressive. "There is lust in my heart, Father." It was something a little trite, perhaps. But it was the truth even if Murphy felt silly saying it.

"Lust tends to be more than within the heart, my son." He had to expect a little attitude in a place like this. People always expected men of god to be naive. There was no naivety in an old, inner city sort of sanctum. This building had layers of dirt and soot built upon it in the same way that Murphy's soul had built up grime. It was another reason why Murphy felt so comfortable here. In many ways, he was the church.

Regardless, the cheek made him want to respond in kind. Murphy bit back the urge to say 'arsehole' instead he simply nodded. It wouldn't do to break the roll of the confessor at the moment.

A short laugh followed the nod. "What sort of person do you lust after?" The man on the other side had a clear voice to match his eyes. Murphy could imagine him, a tee-shirt too tight perhaps under the mantel he'd wear. He could see arms that would be stronger than one imagines when one thinks of a man of god and a face that could go grim. "Do they belong to someone else?"

"No." There was a fire behind that answer. Murphy swallowed. "No. They are with me. Only." There could be no one else. Not after the vows that had been taken and after all the blood that had been spilled. There was no possible way for someone else to fill that void and no way for either of them to be alone or move on.

The man on the other side made a hummed, thinking sound. He tapped his foot slowly and deliberately. When he spoke, his words were finely measured and weighted. "So you've committed more than one sin with this person?"

"With this person, I will commit any sin." Murphy confirmed. He meant that deeply. There was more than a simple bond between him and the reason for his confession. They could not be separated. Not by even death.

"I would have to wonder, what a person that you would go to hell for would be like." The man asked then. He sighed.

"A strong one, passionate, and intelligent. Driven." The lighter in Murphy's pocket was a zippo. It clicked as he lifted the lid and closed it with his thumb. There were five quick snaps before he looked back at the tiny window to speak. "Il est têtu comme un âne et incorrigiblement vain."

"He?" There was no way to scandalize the man behind the window. He'd heard and seen it all. The question was simply for clarification of Murphy's situation. It was worthy of note that there had been no mention of gender up to that moment. The person on the other side was well versed, quite obviously.

It wasn't like Murphy didn't expect the question. His vision trailed around the booth, taking in nothing much. There was no ability to see through the meshing more than an outline. He could not see the stained glass, the empty pews or the stained entrance way that Murphy knew where within the building. He could only feel the age and wear of the building.

Instead he took a deep breath, letting himself taste the incense and smell the age of the cedar box he was in. "Yeah."

The pause from the other side was weighted. He could hear the man's tongue click. "Other than annoyingly stubborn and vain, what is this person like?" Murphy imagined the young man's face, searching for answers to his questions. "Are they intelligent, or slow, attractive or plain?"

Murphy chuckled. "No, not really. Vain and stubborn about cover it."

"So why do you harbor lust for such contemptible traits?" The other man shifted and slid open the door. Murphy could see the color of his clear eyes. "Or are you just a confusing person?"

"On him they are not contemptible." Murphy shrugged, feeling the booth catch loose threads in his worn jacket. "He wears them like armor, and with him, I know that I will not die alone."

"Do you fear death?" That question was urgent. It was something dangerous as well. That question wasn't one that the person on the other side of the booth would ask lightly. No one should ask that question lightly, in Murphy's opinion.

"We did not come here for that." Murphy spat and sat up straighter. His hair bobbed before his eyes. There was a span of silence where all that could be heard was the click of Murphy's lighter. "I came here because..."

"Do you seek punishment?" The other voice spoke as if it was trying to push the conversation along.

Murphy took another breath he was agitated with the line of questioning and so he switched languages again, as if it would start another conversation. "Je veux que vous me libère."

From the other side of the booth, Murphy could make out the change in the man's eyes as he smiled. "Then free yourself."

Murphy wasn't naïve. He smirked and uncrossed his legs. Leaning back he settled into the corner, one hand slid dangerously inwards on his thigh. He arched his eyebrows then, one foot hiked on the booth door and the other against the far corner. "I thought that was your job."

"Je veux être témoigne de votre pénitence." The other man's voice was commanding but placid. "Enlevez votre manteau."

The jacket made more soft gripping sounds against the booth as Murphy shrugged out of the black item. It pooled on the floor, under his uplifted foot.

"Maintenant, votre chemise."

This time Murphy shivered, the wood was cool and warm against his now bare shoulders. His shirt was held easily in his hand. "Now what am I supposed to do with this?"

"Faites comme vous désirez."

He needed no other commands. Murphy let his eyes close and his head drift back against the wood. His free hand slowly undid the front zipper of his pants and removed himself from his pants and boxers. He wasn't loud, but vocal. Small growls worked their way up his throat, purring and needy.

"Plus vite."

Murphy's hand sped up and the sounds in his throat changed to louder groans. He arched his back and planted his uplifted foot flat against the wall of the booth. The groans gave way to pants before a choked gasp left his throat.

"Attendez."

His motion slowed, but the growl in his throat had an almost angry edge to it. An ached sound cracked from between Murphy's lips. His bare chest rose and fell as his breathing slowed down to match his hand's speed.

"Qu'est ce que vous voulez?"

The growl couldn't leave Murphy's throat. "I told you what I want."

"Finis-le."

It wasn't extremely long in coming after the pause. Again Murphy's back arched up and he purred to himself. Hissing turned into lip biting to keep himself from making louder sounds within the cramped confessional. Murphy's shoulders began to shake and he leaned forward. Slowly, he dropped his foot back to the floor and took a set of deep breaths.

From the other side of the booth, the confessional was finished. "Reconnaissance éternelle vous soit rendue, ô Dieu de bonté et de miséricorde! Vous n'avez pas voulu la mort du Pécheur, vous n'avez pas rejeté son repentir; comme un bon Père vous lui avez pardonné ses péchés et l'avez reçu dans votre amour." There was a longer pause before the man finished in English. "And I am not vain."

"Vain fucking people get off on someone jacking off for them." Murphy looked at the shirt and frowned. He rolled the item up and shoved it into the pocket of his jacket. "In a church no less, can't you figure out normal ways to put a fire in your knickers?"

"Oh what are ya, our mum?"

"She'd beat tha hell outta both a us." Murphy placed a cigarette in his mouth and slid one through the netting to Conner. "An' I'm gonna kick your arse for it too one of these days."

Conner laughed and his own zippo could be heard flicking open and lighting. "Is that a promise then?"

"Fuck you." Murphy took the cue from his brother and lit the cigarette. They would have time to air out before anyone honestly came to confess.

"Can we make that a promise too?" Conner snickered.

"Oh love of all the saints and angels. Do you listen to yourself when ya talk? That was corny, Conner." He sucked deeply on the rolled paper and let twin jets of white smoke billow out his nose.

"I'm brilliant, you said so yourself." He could hear Conner exhale. "We need to get a move on, before someone catches us."

"Yeah yeah." Murphy made to stand up, tottered and sat back to the bench quickly. "Actually wait for when I can walk again."

Conner tapped his foot.

"What?" Murphy asked.

The foot tapped again and Murphy groaned, lifting his own to kick the wall with a weak thud.

"Let's go." Conner opened his side of the booth and slid out. He looked around and flicked ash into the palm of his hand. He opened Murphy's door for him and allowed his brother to lean against his shoulder. "Don't ash in the church."

A short laugh was Murphy's response. He did, however, also flick his cigarette into Conner's still open palm. Together they walked slowly to one of the smaller side doors of the church. Two more long drags on the cigarettes followed before they pushed the door open and flicked the butts to the pavement.

"Back to work." Murphy snickered and pushed against Conner's shoulder.

Conner clapped his hands together to remove the ash and followed his brother without another word.

 


End file.
